


A Thousand Apologies

by sarahouse85



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-22 09:36:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahouse85/pseuds/sarahouse85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock stands outside the restaurant watching John Watson inside. How will his revelation of his faked death be met? He is terrified of how his best friend will react. Inspired by the series 3 trailer. Please review and let me know if I should continue. If enough people like this enough, I will post more chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My dear Watson, I owe you a thousand apologies. Sherlock stood, hands in his coat pockets, under the awning of the restaurant, watching. Staring through the window. He stood just to the side of the door as people bustling about, in and out, hailing their cabs or their limos. He didn't seem to notice the cold, even as his breath steamed out in a silvery cloud in front of his slightly parted lips. He didn't even notice the chill his exposed skin had taken on. All of his focus was on the figure sitting and purusing the menu within at a table alone. Where do I even begin? 

It had only been a few days ago that he'd made the decision to present himself to the living world once more. Things had turned out mostly as he'd deduced they might. Molly was easy enough. After helping to fake his death and fool Moriarty's assassins, Sherlock had gone into hiding away from the world and even away from Molly. Three days ago he waited as she had entered the ladies dressing room at St. Bartholomew's to exchange her lab coat for her peacoat after a long day in the morgue. She'd swung open the door and gasped as she noted his silhouetted reflection within the mirror on the locker door. "Sherlock?!" She'd squeaked as she turned, banging into the lockers as she did so, a hand flying to still her heart. "You scared me to death!" 

"Quite an amusing analogy." Sherlock had smirked, but he'd come close as Molly had approached him, pulling him into a frantic hug as she did so. 

"So glad to see you're doing alright." Molly sighed as she hugged him close, taking in the scent of him. Sherlock allowed it, patting her a bit on the back in an effort to return the hug. Thankfully soon after she released him. "Do the others-"

"Not yet." Sherlock frowned once more, but his tone was soft as opposed to his usual. Molly seemed to note the change.

"You'd best get on with it then. Is there something afoot?" Molly asked, backing up a bit and palming her long ponytail as she did so. 

"Perhaps, but I'm not completely sure yet...Hence my sudden reappearance." Sherlock stated. They looked at each other momentarily. "How is he?"

"He's making it." Hesitancy could be hinted in Molly's voice. Sherlock couldn't quite pick up on what it may have been in reference too, and he thought it better not to ask. "Who's next on your list of hellos?"

"Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade." Sherlock's frowned deepened and his brow furrowed. "Mycroft perhaps."

"Good, good." Molly nodded enthusiastically. 

"I'll be around." Sherlock leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss upon Molly's cheek. You still count, Molly. Thank you. Sherlock straightened, turned, and exited the locker room. He didn't know how long Molly stood staring after the door as he closed behind him. He didn't know that Molly swallowed hard within her dry throat as she watched long after.  
Lestrade had taken it as Sherlock had imagined he would. He'd sent his infamous texts to Lestrade's phone from a new and unknown untraceable number. Lestrade had been in press conference from a new murder case, one Sherlock already knew the answer to. After being texted the lead that had led Lestrade to arrest the killer, Lestrade had received the text to meet him near the Oxo Tower Foreshore, beneath a nearby abandoned building. Lestrade, out of sheer curiosity obliged. Sherlock had waited a good while, watching Lestrade standing about in the cold, checking his phone, before he slunk out of the shadows. "Lestrade."

Lestrade had turned, his eyes had widened. "No fucking way." Lestrade had mumbled in shock as the man in the blue scarf and the long coat had approached him. "Bloody hell." 

"How have you been, Lestrade?" Sherlock asked, testing the waters, hoping the Detective Inspector wouldn't try to pull his firearm in the confusion. Lestrade merely put away his phone and approached the consulting detective.

"Is it really you?" Lestrade sounded far away, as if he was in a daze. He looked Sherlock over long and hard.

"Yes. In the flesh." Sherlock had answered. The right hook had been a surprise. Sherlock's lip was cut on the left side, seeping the salty, iron taste of blood into his mouth. Well deserved. Sherlock pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, a parting gift within his coffin from an unknown woman. The I embroidered upon it could only mean it was from Ms. Adler. Sherlock hadn't parted with it since. He pressed it to his bloodied lip and watched Lestrade intently.  
"Sorry." Lestrade shook his head, dismayed. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. But bloody fucking hell." Lestrade seemed almost distraught once more. "How did you-"

"No time to explain at the moment, but I'll make a note of it to tell you in length soon." Sherlock answered, his lip stinging as he spoke. "There is something afoot...I've an inkling of trouble ahead, and let it be known that it isn't Moriarty."

"I could have deduced that myself, Sherlock." Lestrade sneered. "Or perhaps not. I mean, you are alive and well and you jumped off a bloody building." He met Sherlock's stare. "I examined Moriarty's corpse myself within the morgue. He was deader than a doornail."

"This doesn't involve Moriarty or his web of deceit. I believe it's something entirely different. I'll need your help." Sherlock stated, almost as if things were returning to normal almost as quick as he'd hoped.

"I mourned you, Sherlock." Lestrade sounded distant once again. Sherlock had no reply, he only halted his own thought processes. "I cried at your funeral. I'm sure you were watching the whole bloody time too."

"I did this to save you, Lestrade. To save you, Mrs. Hudson, John..." Sherlock trailed off. The worst was still yet to come. Molly and Lestrade were cake compared to his reveal to his old flatmate. "If I hadn't had schemed such an elaborate plan you three would be dead with a bullet in your head."

"Sodding-" Lestrade's mouth fell open. "Moriarty?" Sherlock nodded. "Rat bastard..." Lestrade shook his head once more, but his look was softer. "Well, I'll say I've missed having that brain of yours to help out about Scotland Yard. Hopefully once you get sorted I can commission it once more." Lestrade gave him a small smile and Sherlock relaxed a bit. Lestrade was on board once more. He'd have more time to repair the connection there at a more convenient time.

Mrs. Hudson was perhaps the most emotional reunion he'd had to face as of yet. He'd approached her flat after picking the lock to 221B Baker Street and had frightened her without meaning to. She'd apparently been doing a round of dishes in the kitchen when he'd appeared. She opened the door with a rolling pin in hand, read to assault him. He'd caught her thin wrist and simply stated "I've come home, Mrs. Hudson." He'd thanked heavens she hadn't fainted or died of shock at the sight of him. She merely burst into tears and beat upon his chest where she met him at height for a few minutes before enveloping him in a motherly hug. Sherlock had accepted the maternal lecture that had follow for a good half hour afterwards during which she'd provided him with a warm cup of tea and the pastries she'd made up earlier that day. 

Mycroft had merely accepted Sherlock's reappearance with a passing raise of an eyebrow and a scowl. "Welcome home, dear brother." He'd snidely remarked as he put down his paper and took up his whiskey in the tumbler next to him. 

"Well met, I suppose." Sherlock frowned right back at his brother has he entered the room. 

"Mind telling me how you were able to pull this off?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows once more as he took a drink of the whiskey and swallowed it down. 

"You've got some mundane powers of deduction, brother. I'm sure you put this one together a long while ago." 

"On the contrary, no. I really believed you'd lost your marbles and jumped to your death from the top of that hospital. Hell of a cover up, I must say." Mycroft folded the paper upon his lap and placed it on the table. 

"Glad to see I've yet again disappointed you." Sherlock scoffed. "I've come to say my hellos as well as goodbye. Hoping you can keep this under wraps for a while as I sort things out." Sherlock spoke. "I knew if you found out by other sources this thing would be blown out of proportion." Sherlock turned heel, nodding to his brother disdainfully, and exited Mycroft's study. Mycroft stared after him a long while, his look softened, his heart beating with the warmth of relief. He'd never admit it, but he was rather glad to see his brother back from the dead.

Now it all came down to this. This restaurant that Sherlock had tailed John Watson to. He had been following John since he revealed himself to the others, but had never found a proper moment to approach him. Why he thought now was the best time he couldn't fathom. Perhaps he was merely tired of waiting. The guilt of watching John's face fall as he had tossed that phone to the roof and fell off of the top of St. Bartholomew's. The heartbreak in John's speech to him at his own grave as he looked on. The pain was palpable and the nervousness of reintroducing himself to his closest friend after all of the heartache he'd singlehandedly caused was eating away at his insides. He couldn't stand outside and wait forever. He would eventually have to enter and take matters into his own hands. The crowded restaurant will perhaps stall his anger somewhat. John's not one to make a scene. Sherlock thought of the possibilities of how this meeting would go, how they could all play out. Sherlock inhaled deeply, relishing the cold sting of the air as it was sucked into his lungs. Now or never. Sherlock stepped inside the restaurant.  
John sat at a table, alone in his thoughts, looking about the menu and enjoying a glass of wine as he sat. Bit fancy of an eatery for John's taste. Why is he here? Sherlock wondered as he walked slowly through the people that went this way and that, his focus all upon John as he floated through the restaurant. He seems to be alone. What is that? He's grown a mustache? He always was so military, so clean shaven...Now it occurred to Sherlock that surely some things had changed with John Watson. He hadn't kept very close tabs on anyone when he'd gone into hiding. The pain was too fresh, the guilt too plenty to face them and spy on them in their mourning. He was surprised he was mourned at all. After every "sod you" and "piss off" he'd received from so many he only figured nothing much would change. The world would go on without the great Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps that's how it should have stayed. But duty calls, and he needed his compatriots to keep them close, keep them safe.  
Sherlock felt his heart within his throat as he approached the table. There was no turning back now. Any minute he felt John would glance up and about his surroundings and note the tall, lean man with the unruly dark curls, the expertly applied blue scarf, and the long coat covering his frame with the collar turned up. John kept his nose within the menu, not feeling any interest in the outside world. 

Sherlock was nearly to his table. The thoughts bombarded his brain to the point it nearly hurt. Wait...what if he is angry with me? Surely he will be, I'm sure Lestrade's reaction was soft compared to what John's might be...but surely he will still have a place for me....surely he could forgive? After I explained to him what happened he would understand why I did what I did...I did it for him. For all of them. Sherlock swallowed. Hard. His throat was cotton. But...what if he's so angered he wants nothing to do with me again? Sherlock had to consider the possibility. It was that realization that staggered him, that frightened and terrified the usual unwavering Sherlock Holmes. More so than even Moriarty had.  
He was merely feet away. Sherlock opened his lips, prepared to speak John's name, when...

A blonde, well dressed woman appeared from the opposite side of the table and took hold of the chair across from John Watson. Only then did John Watson glance up. His eyes met with the woman's, and he smiled as she sat down across from him. Hands went across the table to take hold of each other in a loving squeeze. John's entire body language emoted love. Love? Sherlock was taken aback. He stood within the restaurant staring at the two of them. John hadn't even noticed him. John was fully immersed in the company of his lady friend. Sherlock merely stared. Now he was faced with another decision...  
Go forwards with his plan...or turn heel and walk back out the door?


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock stood, jaw somewhat to the floor as he watched the scene before him unfold. John joined his lady friend in conversation. Lady friend? More of a love interest it would seem. Except he seems somewhat taken with this one more so than the others. Sherlock noted that some of the restaurant diners were staring at him as he stood in the middle of the restaurant gawking at the man that sat immersed in conversation with the blonde. He glanced to the side, noting an empty table and promptly pulled out the chair and sat. The waiter advanced to assist him but he waved him off and stared at Watson over the menu.   
John's body language gave off all of the telltale signs. He leaned forward, interested in what the woman had to say, his hand rested upon hers, grasping it gently and rubbing the thumb over her soft knuckles a bit. She laughed, her cheeks blush, her hair to perfection, her attitude towards the army doctor excited and involved. He had seen that body language before. Irene Adler had given off slight cues without even realizing through that entire debacle. John's reaction to the woman was clear. Sherlock felt his heart ache a bit. John had displayed the same sort of cues towards him whenever they were involved in a case. John had always given off the genuinely interested type of social cues and body language. Now it seemed the blonde that sat across from him deserved his undivided attention.

Sherlock was a bit miffed. I've waited so long for the perfect opportunity and now I have to deal with whomever this woman appears to be. Sherlock had worked himself up to...what exactly? What did he expect to do? Spout off a line of drivel along the lines of "John, I'm not dead. I was faking to save your life." "I'm not dead. Let's have dinner." Wouldn't that be a pleasant joke? Sherlock remembered receiving Irene's text after believing that she had also perished. He became entirely mulled over once more. Perhaps the woman is only one of his blind dates. He's gone on a few of those before. Always able to read them fully before he'd even had them in the cab ride to the pub. Sherlock squinted across the menu towards the woman, only able to see the back of her. Her skin was pale, but her hair and the clothing would suggest that she was at least moderately well off. Hmmm, doesn't appear to be after him for wealth. That's at least something. Sherlock was merely frustrating himself. He supposed he couldn't blame Watson for trying to find someone to mesh with after his death. Sherlock had inadvertently caused more pain in his closest friend than he had really intended to. He had also meant to come round and show his face sooner but his currently dilemma had caused him to investigate far and away and thus prolonged his reunion. This lady has taken my place, but only temporary. Surely John will be once more glad I'm back at 221B Baker Street and this will be just a passing fancy. A, what does he call it...rebound? 

Sherlock readied himself mentally once more. Trying to find the words to speak when John's eyes once more met his and the realization of their situation took hold. He solemnly hoped that John did not panic or fly into a rage. Surely not. Once more, Sherlock thought he could rely on the environment to stop any outbursts beyond surprise. He stood once more, straightening his scarf and smoothing his coat. He sucked in a ragged breath rife with anxiety and stepped forward. His feet felt like they had been laid in concrete, his throat became dry and scratch, causing him to try and clear it before he reached the table. A few more steps. Just a few.  
Sherlock came up to the table to the side of John and his dinner date. He clasped his hands behind his back, drawing his stern, emotionless mask about his face as he stared down at his friend. "John Watson."

John glanced up, momentarily averting his eyes from the blonde who sat across from him and met Sherlock's gaze. His mustache twitched a bit upon his lip, his eyes said nothing. Sherlock could read nothing within them for only a second or two before they notably widened. The glass of white wine he held within his opposite hand fell and shattered on the floor. A few closer tables quieted and turned to take in the commotion. A waiter rushed to clean up the mess. Sherlock said nothing, allowing the fact that he was standing, living, and breathing once more in front of the good doctor. "I've returned."

"No." John swallowed hard. The tension mounted. The blonde said nothing. "It can't be." Those words sounded so heartbroken and sob soaked that Sherlock felt his heart ache deeply within his chest. John's eyes reflected it, if only for a second. They were tearing up. Oh, please, Watson. Don't. Sherlock was not a very emotional man, but the only other time he had truly allowed his emotions to take over was in the last few moments before he had lept to his supposive death from the top of St. Bartholomew's. He feared if John continued he would surely join him once more. The emotion was all to raw and palpable between them. John stood up suddenly and sternly, the chair knocking over backwards behind him. "Is it really you?" John looked him over before meeting his eyes once more.

"Yes, John. In the flesh." Sherlock felt him soften a bit. He's not angry. If anything he seems relieved. Sherlock relaxed a bit. It made the right hook that connected with his mouth and busted his lip hurt almost twice as bad after the momentary shock wore off. Sherlock tumbled backwards, seeing stars, falling into the same empty table he had just recently been sitting at. He rolled onto his back in the confusion, a hand instinctively going to his face. John was already upon him, grabbing him up by his coat collar and going in for yet another hit. Sherlock felt his head rock back with the impact. He winced as he met John's eyes again. The rage within them seethed. Sherlock had underestimated his friend's reaction. The restaurant setting hadn't put any stop to any foreseen outbursts. Sherlock's worst fears were being realized at this moment.   
"I believe it, definitely in the flesh. I'll have to ice my hand later thanks to that but good to know you're not a bloody hallucination!" John's face was reddened and sweaty as he grabbed once more at Sherlock's scarf and yanked him up into a sitting position by it. Suddenly the blonde was behind John, a hand upon his shoulder. John seemed distracted for a moment. 

"John, wait!" She urged him. He glanced back over his shoulder at her. "Mind explaining?"

"This, Mary, this is the infamous Sherlock Holmes. In the bloody flesh!" John seethed through gritted teeth. Mary tugged gently upon his arm as it held Sherlock's scarf. Sherlock gazed up at John with a sadness. "Back from the dead!"

"Well, dear," Mary began as she tugged a bit more on the arm. John's grip was relaxing a bit. "You've spoken so fondly of him. Perhaps we can stop and discuss it over tea?" Mary glanced at Sherlock. John waited a moment, glancing back at Sherlock. Some of the fight had gone out of him. He released the scarf and stood back up. Sherlock watched as he turned and strode towards the door. Mary leaned down, offering a hand. "Sherlock...Holmes, I presume?" She smiled sweetly and allowed the consulting detective to rise up once more to his feet. Sherlock straightened his coat, looking anxiously after John in the direction he'd gone. Before he knew it the woman was pressing a dinner napkin into his hand. He absentmindedly placed it upon his bleeding busted lip and squinted his brow in confusion as he looked down at her. "Come, I'm sure he's already hailing a cab." She turned and apologized to the patrons of the restaurant as she placed an arm about Sherlock's tall shoulders and led him out of the restaurant.

The two emerged to find the fuming Dr. Watson attempting to hail a cab. Sherlock looked longingly after him. "Perhaps you shouldn't approach him again just yet."

"Who, might I ask, are you?" Sherlock turned, frustrated and confused towards the blonde. He had a better view to read her now. Definitely comfortable in her own wealth, owner of a small dog, mother long dead, perhaps since childhood, father in her life but perhaps not present? Nonsmoker, no apparent physical bad habits. Sherlock was looking her over and she allowed it for a minute. 

"I'm Mary Morstan. I'm John's fiance." Mary smiled that sweet grin at him once more. Sherlock's lips parted in surprise once more. He was floored. Fiance?! This was most definitely a new development. John had never made it to that stage before in his dating career. Things here were more serious than he first imagined. He noted the sizable diamond ring upon her left ring finger and nearly facepalmed himself for not noticing it earlier. The entire situation had put him off his game. "I've heard much about you, although I am surprised to see you standing here alive, much as John is."  
"If he would only let me explain..." Sherlock sighed, the pain in his jaw and lip a constant throb now. Not comparable to the one within his heart. Sentiment, always a messy business. 

"I know how much you meant to him, he has a plausible cause to be upset. Perhaps I can calm him and sit you two down so you can tell your side?" Mary rubbed his back reassuringly. Sherlock was taken aback. This Mary was certainly not anything like John's other consorts. 

"I would appreciate it, if he is willing." Sherlock stated. Mary nodded.

"Mary! We're leaving!" John shouted at her from the curb, a cab waiting to whisk them off to where it was that John was living now. It wasn't currently 221B Baker Street, as Mrs. Hudson had informed him.

"Coming, dear!" Mary called after him and turned back to Sherlock. "Give me time to calm him. I suppose you'll be moving back into the old flat?" She asked. Sherlock nodded, staring after John. John met his stare with a teary, angry gaze. "Then I'll call over later tonight to set something up. Take care of that lip." Mary patted his back and headed off in the direction of the cab and her fiance. John stood only a moment longer staring at his friend. The anger seemed to be fading into somewhat of a relieved, pained look, but Sherlock was cut off from even this emotion as John promptly turned his back and climbed into the cab, slamming the door behind him. The cab drove off uneventfully. Sherlock stared after it on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant for what seemed like an eternity before checking the napkin and walking up the street towards Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, Mary calls to set up a meeting between the boys at Watson's current home...emotion and angst! Will John forgive and understand? Will he be convinced to help Sherlock with the dilemma that's delayed his return? 
> 
> Please, please, please review and tell me if you liked how this is playing out....I don't have much to go on from the series 3 trailer but I'm trying my best to give you the most accurate description of how I think it will play out!


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock sat in the grey armchair within the living room of 221B Baker Street, anxiously tapping his fingers upon the armrests. He glanced around the silent flat. His mind was racing. He checked the antique clock upon the bookcase. Nearly time and he hasn't arrived. Surely he hasn't forgotten. Sherlock sighed. Perhaps he is still trying to punish me by not showing on time. Although he isn't late just yet. Sherlock didn't really know what to think. He was in denial that he was afraid the good doctor wouldn't show his face within the flat at all.  
He'd walked back to the flat the other evening mulling things over within his head. He didn't like how things had played out, although he wasn't entirely surprised that they had gone the way they had. Sherlock had, in part been hoping that after releasing the pent up frustration and rage upon him, that John would then be willing to reconcile. To shake his hand, perhaps pull him into one of those friendly hugs that you always see friends doing on the telly or perhaps even in busy cafes. Of course nothing more had come of the thrown punches than an angry John Watson and an interfering fiance. That isn't entire fair. She did arrange for us to meet. She's playing in my favor although she really has no reason not to. Sherlock felt a little guilty at the envy he displayed against Ms. Morstan. He didn't truly know her, and if there was anything to be said of his time spent with John Watson, it would be that you should give someone at least one chance to prove themselves and show you who they are before you judge. Sherlock knew how it felt to be looked over and judged with a passing glance. He shouldn't be so quick to continue in that way.  
Mary had indeed phoned Mrs. Hudson later that evening and had arranged for John to arrive the next afternoon for a sit down with Sherlock. She'd stated that it had taken quite a bit of convincing and calming but she had appealed to his nostalgic side and his curiousity. "Surely you can explain the reason behind all of this and bring him some closure." Mary had stated. Sherlock had been completely in agreement with all that she had said up to that point. Why would John Watson need closure? There need not be any end to our friendship. Perhaps she meant to that chapter in our relationship? Everytime Sherlock thought of that conversation his stomach turned in a sickening way and he quickly fought to find something else to concentrate on.  
Mary had stated John would arrive around one in the afternoon. It was currently five minutes til. Sherlock was becoming increasingly aggravated, frustrated, and fearful. John truly wants nothing to do with me. I've hurt him too deeply to gain him back. I'm a soulless bastard. Sherlock bent forward, elbows on knees, face in his hands. He heard someone clear their throat from the doorway. He glanced up. John Watson stood, looking about the flat with a solemn mask upon his face. Sherlock stood slowly. "I'm sure you didn't think I'd show." John seemed to force the words out of his throat with a bit of effort. Sherlock was trying to think of a reply but nothing would come out. "I almost didn't. Mary wouldn't let it bloody rest..." John lowered his head. "I can't help it though. I will admit I'm curious about how this has all come full turn." John wouldn't meet Sherlock's eyes. He walked stiffly, militarily into the living room and sat across from the grey armchair Sherlock had been sitting in prior. His old spot. He's sat down like no time has passed. No, that wasn't it either. It was just a place to sit that wasn't Sherlock's armchair. He couldn't be jumping to conclusions so quickly.   
"Then I'll make you wait no longer." Sherlock regained his composure, his face statuesque once more. He strode about the living area, hands clasped behind his back as they usually were, and Sherlock poured the entire story out to John. He left nothing out. John listened intently, nodding here and there. When Sherlock had finished he said nothing, only stared off into nothingness in front of him. He seemed to be processing all of the information that was just given to him. Sherlock stood, watching him, waiting for him to say anything.

"So, you didn't think to use a code? 'Vatican cameos'? Anything like that to signal to me? To give me some sort of a clue of what was going on?" John was sounding choked once more. Sherlock was silent a moment.

"In a way I did." Sherlock thought back to their conversation on the phone right before he'd faked his death. John raised an eyebrow as the scowl upon his face deepened. "I told you it was all just a magic trick. I wasn't lying there." Sherlock's face betrayed him once more. It was true, he had told John it was all a trick...but had he really expected that John would pick up on that? No. He knew his friend would be too strained from the situation to understand what Sherlock was trying to tell him. 

"Yes, I suppose you did. I remember that last conversation like it happened yesterday..." John sounded distant for a moment. Then he looked up and met Sherlock's gaze. "I now understand why you had to do what you did, Sherlock, and for that I thank you. I cannot hold it against you that you were trying to protect us. I just wish you could have said or done something..." John frowned. Sherlock frowned in return.

"I've hurt you, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson...I've hurt you all, but I feel I betrayed you, John. And that I never meant to do." Sherlock ventured closer, sitting upon the grey armchair and leaning forward. John followed him unmoving. "You said it yourself as you left. Friends protect people. At that moment up upon the roof of St. Bart's, I realized that you were my closest friend and a world without you..." Sherlock stopped, fearing he was sounding too sappy.

John was watching him closely. "It's not like you to be sentimental, Sherlock." John was still frowning. Sherlock hated it. "What are you hoping to get out of this reunion?" 

"I want to get things back to the way they were previous. I want to continue on as if Moriarty had never strayed back within our lives." Sherlock commented. He knew that things were forever changed, but he couldn't help but state what he hoped would happen most of all.

John shook his head. "No, no, no, Sherlock. Things will never be that way again." John sounded emotional again. He was hiding his face. The rawness of it all pierced Sherlock's heart once more. "I went back into a deep depression after I buried you. I stopped seeing my therapist. I went on a drinking binge that even Lestrade couldn't pull me out of. I attempted suicide..." John stopped there, a sob wracking his body. He was silent. Sherlock's eyes grew wide. Oh gods...Sherlock's guilt increased ten fold upon this revelation.  
"But, when I hit rock bottom, I met Mary. Met her earlier the day I attempted to kill myself. She walked into Speedy's while I was sitting about, having a cream tea, contemplating the easiest way to off myself. Sat down, uninvited at the table to have a bit of a conversation. I asked for her number, although I didn't intend on ever calling it, but I hated to make the woman feel like she'd wasted an afternoon getting nowhere with a lowlife like me." John sniffled. "After they released me from the hospital three days later I decided to try and correct my situation. I dug the number out of my wallet, dialed it up, and when I spoke to her on the phone she asked why it had taken me so long to give her a ring." John laughed sentimentally to himself. Sherlock merely sat and listened as John spoke, not knowing what to say, knowing he wasn't providing any comfort to his friend. "That was three years ago, Sherlock. Three fucking years that have flown by like three months. You never attempted to contact me..."

"I was called away on business that needed handled." Sherlock stated, knowing it really wasn't a very valid excuse. "I didn't mean to make you wait so long."

"Oh, I wasn't waiting." John sounded agitated again. He met Sherlock's eyes with a searing gaze. "When you watch your best friend fling himself off the top of a building and then see him broken and bloodied on the pavement below, there's nothing to wait for." John sighed and ran his hands through his sandy hair. "I take that back, I waited for the day I found the courage to join you." 

Sherlock sat back, stunned. "Join me?" His voice barely audible. 

"Yep. Join you. I'll let you in on another stunning revelation, Mr. Holmes." John bit his lip. "The day I was introduced to you and became your flatmate was the night I was going to go back to that bloody hotel room and off myself."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't fucking care if you do or not. I was discharged from the war, I have no family to speak of willing to have anything to do with me...there was nothing for me here, Sherlock. The front lines were my home, all that I had." John was crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks in hot, wet trails. Sherlock's heart was pulp within his bird cage chest. "With you I had something, someone. A friend... When you 'died', I was back at square one with an even bigger hole within my chest." John wiped the tears from his eyes and regained his composure. 

"I will make it up to you, John." Sherlock was having trouble finding the correct words.

"How do you expect to do that? Things are not going to be the same. I'm not just going to move back into 221B. I have a fiance now, I have a practice, even if it is only part time. I have a different life now." John stated.

"And you are unwilling to include me in it?" Sherlock asked. He felt he might die depending on the words that would be spilling from John's lips as he answered.

"No, not completely. I just want you and your inflatable ego to realize that I cannot be running off into trouble all hours of the night anymore. I am willing to consider a continued friendship though, if that's enough for you." John answered. Sherlock felt deflated. He had been preparing for the worst. Sherlock watched John and couldn't help but crack a bit of a smile. "You pull another stunt like that without cluing me in, I will personally kill your sorry ass if you pop up again." John was giggling a bit now, perhaps from emotional exhaustion, perhaps from true amusement.

"Thank you, John." Sherlock stood as John did and offered his hand. John shook it firmly. The air between them was tense as their hands clasped. Sherlock considered for a moment before drawing John in towards him slowly. He encircled John with his free arm and held him tight. John didn't fight it, didn't comment. Just allowed Sherlock to embrace him, somewhat touched. When Sherlock released him John actually gave him a bit of a smile. "Now, perhaps we can do something about that mustache you've grown?"

"Mary is fond of it. Says it makes me look 'gentlemenly' or something posh like that." John laughed. Sherlock couldn't help but join him in the laughter. "You should be kissing that woman's feet, by the way. Otherwise we wouldn't be here." John's smile faltered, perhaps remembering how against this meeting he had previously been.

"I will most definitely thank her. She seems to be one of your better choices." Sherlock commented. The tension was lifting like a heavy blanket thrown off to reveal crisp, cool air in its wake. "I've got tea, care to have a sip and I'll let you in on what spurred my resurfacing at this time." John nodded, and Sherlock popped off into the kitchen to pour them a spot.

Sherlock lay in his bed staring at the ceiling and the various shapes he'd spotted in the pattern already. He was overjoyed and very relieved at the new reconciliation between him and John. Although he would most definitely miss having John about the flat, he couldn't completely hold anything again Ms. Morstan for assisting him in being reunited with the one man he considered closer than a brother. His phone rang, vibrating noisily upon the bedside table. Two in the morning and someone other than Lestrade is phoning me? Sherlock wrinkled his brow at the unknown number. "Hello?" He answered.  
"Sherlock, I must speak with you." The woman's voice sounded heavy with anxiety and the sound of someone who had been crying hard for a good long time. "John's missing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I'm to continue, please review. Let me know what you think, good or bad!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock arrives at Mary and John's estate. It is revealed the darkness of Mary's past and John's involvement.

Sherlock arrived at the Watson homestead within London not long after receiving Mary's distressed call. His blood was pumping, his heart was in his throat, his mouth dry as cotton. He'd somewhat been expecting that this would happen. What else would have brought him back to reconnect with his past at this time? He was just glad that he had gotten the chance to reconcile with his friends and with John before the inevitable happened.

Mary opened the door to the rather large estate and quickly waved him inside. He stood and removed his coat and his scarf as she shut and locked the door behind him, peaking out of the curtain that covered the window as she did so. He took care and hung up his things so as to save time. "How long has he been missing?"

Mary turned, her blonde hair undone and somewhat wild, as thought she'd been tossing and turning about in bed before she'd called him. Sherlock was observing the front hall before he turned and gave his full attention to her. She was in a pale blue robe and wringing her hands with anxiety. "Well, he said he was headed down to the pub for a pint with his friends at about seven, and I was feeling tired so I went to bed early at around nine....Usually he's good about popping out for a bit and coming home with no problem, or at least giving me a ring if something's held him up but I haven't received any call tonight and the guys at the pub said he wasn't there when I called." Mary's voice rose in pitch with her fear. Sherlock knew not why but it was grating on his nerves a bit. A pint with his friends? What friends does John have? The fiance was one thing but he has others.....Sherlock chose not to try and concentrate on that aspect of the conversation at this moment.

"I suppose that you've been having a bit of trouble lately, haven't you Mary?" Sherlock asked. Mary met his eyes with her widened and tearful ones and Sherlock felt a bit of pity for her in that moment. "Trouble of the blackmailing kind?"

"How-" Mary's mouth fell open, unable to process what she had just heard escape the consulting detective's lips. 

"Well, to be precise I believe your father has been having the trouble, and therefore you'd had trouble and I'm sure that your loving and loyal fiance has taken the cause into his own hands." Sherlock frowned and shook his head with disapproval. Mary lowered her head, looking a bit ashamed. She buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Sherlock rolled his eyes at first. Oh please, not this. Emotion is going to get us nowhere. I need facts. Quickly. Sherlock stepped close to her, drawing her in to cry upon his chest and she complied, having her cry and getting ahold of herself. She stepped back within a few minutes of consoling and righted herself.   
"How ever did you know? Have you been following us?" Mary asked as she sniffled and led Sherlock into the drawing room, beginning to dig around in the drawers of the desk.

"It's what I do, unfortunately for some." Sherlock answered as he observed this room as well. John's office? Does John work from home now? He did say he had a practice, part time. Perhaps he's gone old fashioned and sees his patients in home. Would save on having a clinic, especially if he doesn't work full time... Mary returned to his side with a note.   
"I received this in the mail a few days ago. Well, John opened it unknowingly even though it was addressed to me. He then proceeded to question me and I had to spill some family secrets that I'm not proud of." Mary wrapped her robe tightly around her and watched as Sherlock poured over the letter. It was actually very well written, the cursive black ink elegantly flowing across the page. It read:

Ms. Morstan,

I do believe that due to the fact that your father is at present time missing, you are responsible for his debts to his institution. Do not go to the police, as something terrible may come of doing so. Merely present the $70,000 pounds that are owed in payment to the below address and any further harrassment will be held at bay.

 

Sherlock took every detail of the note in. "$70,000 pounds? That's asking quite a bit but aren't you well off?" He asked. She shook her head.

"The estate was left to me in the disappearance of my father, but I fear there is no money left even if I attempted to liquidate the estate....and John's not got the money either. His practice pays the bills but..." Mary was tearing up again at the mention of John. Sherlock sighed.   
"Mary, I need you to calm yourself and explain to me exactly what kind of debt he is referring to." Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders and centered in on her. She nodded after a moment and sniffled a bit more.

"My father always had dark dealings, although I'm not sure mother knew. He was a smuggler at a time, then ran with an 'institution' as the letter states, doing their dirty work. He provided well for me and my mother but he disappeared years ago while attempting to run money for them. I think perhaps he was stealing it from them to provide for us and got caught..." Mary shrugged. "I don't know where my father is or if he is alive, but for some reason this 'institution' of sorts has been plaguing me for years, stating that they would be calling on me and the like. I have been visited by men and even women claiming to work for them, threatened by them. I actually haven't seen any of them in the last four years, and then this letter came....I suppose they've decided to call in their debt."

"You told John all of this?" 

"Yes. He was quite angry, but I told him that no harm has ever come of it and that if anything happens I'll just go to Scotland Yard with it and that will be the end of it." Mary met Sherlock's piercing gaze.

"You know that it won't be though." Sherlock asked. She nodded, once again full of guilt and shame that became apparent upon her face. "I sure one of the men that visited you went by the name of Charles Augustus Milverton." Mary's face reflected confusion. "A man, greying hair, very proper in stature and dress."

Realization was beginning to cross Mary's face. "I do believe you're right...." She sat, thankfully into the nearby chair as she didn't look to see if anything would catch her. "A man of that description was the last to visit me four years ago. He was very intimidating, looking and sounding like a man with some prestige."

"He is one of the most vile people I have ever come across in my years of doing what I do." Sherlock scowled, his disgust apparent. "A blackmailer, the best of his kind I should say with no want to give him any credit." Sherlock's anger was tangible and Mary's eyes widen as she listened to him. "He is the reason I surfaced after three years. As I explained to John, I'd been gone these last three years chasing down every last one of Moriarty's spiders within his criminal web, and found one that escaped my grasp time after time. Milverton is a blackmailer, but he is a very dangerous man with many ways of carrying out his intent if not paid." Sherlock met her eyes and for a moment felt for her. John had gotten caught up in something haphazardly without knowing the extent of which these people would take if he got involved. "John's been on his trail for the past two months."

"He didn't even know about this until a few days ago when the letter came!" Mary stood up suddenly, distressed.

"No, dear, the man has lived with me and worked many cases with me. He's very intelligent and I fear he's picked up some things from working along side me. He dug into your past and came across the information you revealed to him long before you even said anything. I fear he's been going after Milverton among others that have been involved in said 'institution' and I fear now he has gotten himself kidnapped or worse." Sherlock hoped the kidnapping was as far as it had gone at the moment.

"Oh gods, no!" Mary's hand went to her mouth in fear. "What do we do?" 

"It just so happens that I know where Milverton has set up shop here in London, and if he's still there that is where I'll start." Sherlock turned to regain his coat and scarf. Mary watched him momentarily and then started past him into the closet next to the door and grabbed her coat as well. "What are you doing?" Sherlock paused.

"I'm coming with."

"No."

"Yes, he's my fiance and this is all my fault."

"He's my friend and Milverton's been on my list for years, I can't have you getting in the way."

"You don't have a choice I'm afraid." Mary was dressed up for the cold outside and standing in front of the door with a determined look upon her face. Always a bad idea to bring along an emotionally compromised fiance to the man you're trying to save....but then again, she has more pull on John than I do at the present time. 

"Fine." Sherlock frowned. She moved and the two exited out onto the street and hailed a cab. "Any idea of any fundraisers or anything having to do with fire?"

"That's a very strange duo, Mr. Holmes." Mary seemed a bit strained as the cab they hailed pulled up next to them. "Actually, the only thing that could be a little of both would be the Guy Fawkes Night celebration in Russell Square."

Sherlock signaled to the cabbie to head in that direction. Mary watched him carefully, sensing something was not being told. "I know what you're going to ask and I might as well tell you. You're already in danger due to your father's involvement. He was involved with the secret society known as the Ordo Templis Orientis."

"Okay, meaning?"

"Its the very same society that Aleister Crowley was involved with and we all know what he's known for." Sherlock answered.

"Gods....so you think?"

"There's a good possibility that John is in trouble of becoming a sacrifice by fire, and I would not put Milverton as the one holding the torch but I am sure he's involved." Sherlock stared ahead, focusing on the coming task, whatever it may be. Mary fought to keep her tears and fears contained as they approached Russel Square and the gigantic bonfire yet to be lit that sat within the center of the commons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope that those of you reading the story are enjoying it. I'm trying to pull from some setlock as well as Conan Doyle's own Sherlock stories involving the characters. Please review!!! Please please please tell me what you think.
> 
> Next chapter, will Mary and Sherlock find John in a precarious situation?


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